Harry Potter: The Path of a Wizard
by oca2073
Summary: My first attempt at a long HP fanfic. Sirius rescues Harry before Hagrid does and raises him with Lupin away from the eyes of Albus Dumbledore.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own anything.

It was a peaceful looking abode Dumbledore had to admit as he swung open the gate and strode up to the doorway. He rang twice and after a pause it opened to reveal the expectant face of Remus Lupin, looking far healthier and better off than Dumbledore had ever remembered seeing him.

"Dumbledore," Lupin acknowledged and then ushered him inside. The sitting room was still and dark, as all the blinds were drawn and shadows were everywhere. "I suppose you've come to ask about Harry."

Dumbledore waited looking at his fingers. "I knew he was alive, based on the Hogwart's registry and I assumed that since he survived unharmed he must be in good hands. But this was not what I had intended for him."

"This house is fidelius charmed, as you may have noticed," Lupin replied, "in a decent neighbourhood. He's had a decent childhood, we have tried our best. But that's not the point. We know about the prophecy."

Dumbledore jerked upright to survey him and looked aghast. "And you have told him?"

Lupin inclined his head.

"He is just a child-"

"Better for him to be prepared than to die needlessly later. We have trained him the best we could, and tried to balance in a normal child's life."

"Who is we?" Dumbledore asked stoically, although a part of him already knew the answer.

"This time," Lupin said, "Sirius is secret keeper. We felt the need to make amends to James and Lily."

"Tell me everything that has happened since then."

And so Lupin began. He told Dumbledore what Sirius had told him before ten years ago. Upon hearing the news of Peter's betrayal, Sirius had arrived at breakneck speed to Godric's Hollow to rescue the infant Harry from among the ruins before anyone had time to react. Then he had sought him out and the revelations that he revealed had made him so confused, so miserable, so powerless, so furious but all doubt and anger was erased when Sirius showed him his memory and the fatal moment when James decided that Peter would be Secret Keeper. Together they lay low with Harry while the Wizarding world simultaneously rejoiced and condemned Black but they both knew that his chances of getting off were partial at best and so they focused their energy on hunting down Pettigrew. But when months passed without any news, they had decided to settle down intent on raising Harry and preparing him from the threat that they knew he one day would have to face.

"How did you come to know of the prophecy?" Dumbledore had so many questions. But he already knew why the pair of them had not confided in him at all. There would have been no question if a challenge over Harry had erupted, that Dumbledore would have won. He who had the entire country behind him. He kept his head bowed low for the moment, not showing his reaction, thinking…

"You don't need to know about that yet." Lupin smiled awkwardly. He pulled his wand from out his back pocket and withdrew the silvery strand of memory from his temple; which Dumbledore accepted into his small tube-like container.

"Examine it all you like. But think about it, if Sirius really wanted to harm the Potters could he have been here all these years and Harry still be alive? You'll find him in the other room."

Dumbledore stood quickly at that and moved rather boldly towards the door and exited back into the entrance hall. "In the study!" he heard Lupin call from behind him. He could not deny his slight but throbbing excitement at the prospect of seeing the boy whose fate had been uncertain all these long years. Surely the magical world would rejoice at his reappearance. There would also be plenty of scrutiny on him as to where he had been and plenty of excuses would have to be invented for that.

There was a childishly drawn sign on the wall that declared quite untidily STUDY and crayons that scrawled familiar pictures, flying broomsticks, wand/stick duels and flying sparks and stick figures and wizard hats. He smiled gently, knocked and turned the knob.

Inside Harry Potter was reading with his face bent low at the desk. He looked up expectantly and Dumbledore caught the lucid stare of his green eyes that left him feeling without any doubt, relieved.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I don't own anything.

Harry Potter had lived a rather normal albeit sheltered life by anyone's standards for much of the last ten years, strange though he knew it was to be raised by two wizards who were essentially hiding from the rest of the Wizarding world. From his earliest days that he could remember, it had been Voldemort who had murdered his parents, Voldemort who would one day rise again and try to murder him and would not rest until he succeeded that all he needed was one single capable servant before he could return to power once again. He had to admit the very thought terrified him although be now the fear had been reduced to a numbing sensation whenever he chanced to think on the topic. He could not really believe in the prophecy and his destined role, which sounded very ridiculous even to his young mind, but as Sirius had always said, Voldemort sure was a lunatic.

He had been taking lessons as far back as he could remember. They had been a sort of extracurricular thing in addition to school which often meant that he had less free time than most of his peers. From Remus, he learned much of the theory, as well as Charms and Transfiguration. Sirius taught in addition to Potions, which he always admitted to "sucking rather badly" at, practical Defence and duelling, with a wand that Sirius had said had once belonged to his uncle. He knew his progress had always been extraordinary and beyond expectation, as judging by the incredulous looks that both his caregiver's bore when he mastered a particularly difficult spell.

By the time his eleventh birthday loomed in the horizon, Harry had been feeling rather excited about going to a school where he no longer had to hide all his abilities from the rest of his schoolmates, of how he was different. This, as well as the fact that he had never been allowed to invite any friends over, meant that he had never developed anything more than a passing acquaintanceship with anyone of his age. But the talk they had had some two months prior to his eleventh put everything into perspective.

"You cannot," Remus had told him one night during dinner, "reveal to most people what you can do. Only people you trust or in pressing circumstances. It is better to not give anything away."

"You don't realize how far ahead you are do you," Sirius said grinning widely and looking at him always, with a gleaming eye of pride and joy, "You can do some things that even _I_ can't." He was referring of course to his feats in wandless magic. "If people realize the sort of prodigy that you are, they'll go hysterical and probably you'll never hear the end of it."

"Here's my suggestion," Remus had said, "in class, practice channeling your magic with your left hand secretly even while you motion with your wand in your right."

"Yeah, if you can pull that off you'll have the upper hand at fooling potential combatants as to what you're intending."

Sirius had then excused himself out the door as he did most weekends, having a penchant for going out late at nights while Remus never really did anything much at all. It was rather confusing stuck in the middle of both of them for they really were sharply different in personality. Lupin as Harry realized quite early on, was amicable on the surface but troubled with his affliction such that every full moon Lupin and Sirius would depart for the night and returned tired and sore in the mornings. It was a regular occurrence that had occurred as long as he could remember and in the early days they also hired various housekeepers to look after him. Sirius on the other hand was capable of both very cheerful and serious moments, temperamental and unpredictable…

"At Hogwarts," Lupin continued after Sirius left, "you'll study other branches of magic and knowledge that you haven't encountered. Herbology of course, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy, Ancient Runes. It'll also be a time where you get to study independently and decide for yourself what you want to learn. You can discuss it with us of course, but Hogwarts has a massive library, the finest collection in Britain. I imagine Sirius will soon be rather pleased to hear how you manage to sneak books out of the Restricted Section.

He remembered Lupin saying. "On your eleventh, Professor Dumbledore, you've heard of him, will stop by to deliver your Hogwarts letter personally. After that we can celebrate your birthday properly afterwards. And tomorrow we'll take you to Diagon Alley to buy your things. You already have your books, potions equipment, ingredients of course."

And looking up at Dumbledore just now who was wearing those oddly flamboyant robes, his glasses and nose did not suit his sense of forbearance, he decided. As he had entered, Harry, acute as he was, felt a great swell and surge of magic pass through the room that left no doubt in his mind that he was staring at a wizard with enormous depths of power. He radiated strength and confidence but looked rather surprised at the moment. This gave Harry the sense that there was more about him that Dumbledore had already figured out.

"Harry, I am Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Yes, I know." Harry got up, approached quickly and shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you sir. Sirius and Remus both told me you were coming today to present my letter personally. I would just like to say I look forward very much to attending Hogwarts. I'm really excited for it."

"You seem to be very well prepared already," Dumbledore said with ease. "I've just had a discussion with Remus and he informed me you've already been trained. That is highly irregular if you do mind me saying. The ministry -

"I hardly think the Ministry would press charges to be honest, sir" Harry replied in a tone that Dumbledore found he did not much like. "I think you'd agree and they would too, that a person in my circumstances ought to be given certain allowances. I speak earnestly when I say that I do not at all intend to abuse any of my privileges and will certainly abide by all necessary rules and restrictions."

"What book are you reading Harry?" Dumbledore suddenly strolled past him to his desk. It was "Curse Breaking: Notable Cases and Methods, A History of the Art."

Harry could tell from then on that Dumbledore was not at all pleased in the way things had turned out, and it was at that moment that he realized he must therefore have some kind of vested interest in his being. He resolved to keep his eyes open.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I own nothing.

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

On July 30, 1991 11:59 PM, Dumbledore rubbed the sleep from his eyes and stared intently at his silver instruments. Midnight passed. There was a click. Nothing.

Dumbledore scratched his head, deeply perplexed and worried. He paused and surveyed the instruments again. Where was the letter that would begin to write itself and would tell him at last what he needed to know?

He needed to think. But nothing came to mind at the moment. He opened the Registry and spotted the name. H.J Potter. Everything was where it ought to be. Even if he was overseas, it wouldn't be a problem. Unless…

Dumbledore had to think to himself that what he had been dreading, but expecting had occurred. The Fidelius charm was impregnable after all. At that moment however, a barn owl was tapping at the nearest window and he hurried to retrieve another letter. To his surprise, inside the envelope there was only a single slip of paper.

_The residence of Harry James Potter may be found at Number Seven Rosebury Drive, Sutton. _

Dumbledore sighed and dropped down into his chair and rested his face on his desk. Now that the wait had ended, he supposed he was in for a real shock.

Beside him imperceptibly, the quill was at last putting ink to paper, scratching out the standardized Hogwarts letter.

_Diagon Alley_

Harry spun over in the fire and collapsed in a heap of ashes in the Leaky Cauldron. He had blonde hair, perfect vision, and crooked teeth. He had borrowed one of his classmate's and brewed the potion himself entirely for the first time under supervision from Sirius but forgot about the braces. Behind Remus (looking like himself) and then Sirius, (disguised) sprang up in the flames and straightened him up and he brushed the ash from his robes. Thankfully it was a regular enough occurrence especially among kids for them to fall over that nobody even twitched.

He had been to Diagon Alley three times in his life and this was the fourth and he supposed now it would be a regular trip at least once per year. He felt the magic swirling in the brick wall with his hand for an instant, closing his eyes to test his abilities, and as Remus and Sirius watched from behind he tapped the appropriate tiles that he could discern. The right ones that felt faintly hollow and rang unevenly compared to the rest and it all fell into place.

Soon they were in the midst of the noon day crowd, jostling for a path and as usual Harry felt his senses come alive with fire at the sheer variety of magic that flowed in all the bustling shops and magical items, each with very different and fascinating signatures. He had always been able to sense magic in a rather elaborate way that he had been unable to communicate with Remus or Sirius. For example, he found with his eyes if he stared hard enough at something, in a sudden flash of vision he could see magic in its varying forms: wavelike, then burning, buzzing colored haze of what he assumed was a special kind of energy, magic itself. He could see its tones and gradients, ripples in its recurring patterns, the varying concentrations of differently devised intents and spell signature shapes jumbled together. If he stared long enough, he found he could sometimes even work out the specific mixture of different swarms of internal mechanisms functioning together, which he supposed was what allowed spells fundamentally to work. This sometimes gave him sudden insight on the principle of how to perform a spell more effectively by instinctively altering the nature and flow of his own magic, which allowed him to master spells at what Remus and Sirius both called, an unprecedented pace.

And then in an instant it was over, as soon as he dropped that necessary gaze that was able to reveal, just for a moment, the intricate visual complexities of what magic was really like.

It was a ton of information to register, and so it was not surprising that in public wizarding society, he often felt overwhelmed by it all. And it wasn't just in sight either. Although weaker certainly he was able to feel certain magical auras, although they only registered when they were significantly powerful, whereas his special induced vision could find some trace of magic, no matter how minute or well disguised. He was also looking forward to finding out whether he could hear the magic when it was infused with song. In taste he could certainly make out the unique blandness associated with magically cooked food, and he never ate it if it was possible, but he imagined at Hogwarts he would have to get used to it or stop eating entirely.

Sirius was the one who a few years back suggested that he tried to read magic intent to give him an advantage in dueling but it was hopeless. If anything it was a distraction when he sometimes got disorientated at critical moments by unintentionally reverting to magical sight and losing track of how Sirius (or he himself) was physically moving. The information was just all to fast in a duel for him to make anything out. It required often minutes of head-wringing analysis to establish anything of value, and moreover he was sometimes wrong. But his abilities had been improving as he grew older and became more attuned to his special senses.

It was also because of his unique gifts, Harry reflected, that he unilaterally deplored all manner of spells which required intent, especially dark intent. He was very sensitive to any such spells used against him, as if he could feel for a moment the full emotion of anything that was directed against him, as Sirius soon found out. It upset his mood and he could feel those despicable sentiments emanating that made him cringe in anger. He had absolutely refused to practice anything of the sort. And not only this, but he was extremely wary of their deceptive nature that could imperceptibly change your character if you used certain intention spells enough, your character would align itself towards that intention. It was a scary thought.

As they approached Gringotts, Sirius disguised as a rather shaggy-skinned, dilapidated older man with ruddy cheeks, (probably off a muggle vagabond to be honest) slapped his shoulder and trotted off in the direction of Quidditch Quality Supplies as he and Lupin approached the bank. They were going to use Lupin's account, which was really Sirius and his account pooled together that they all shared.

They were inside the bank now, and as usual Harry attempted to focus his gaze upon the multilayered and formidable wards that guarded the establishment and gave it such a fearsome reputation. It was well deserved. The wards were massive, was the first word he had to describe it as. Paying no heed to the long rows of goblins sitting at their polished desks, and the marble pillars that flanked them, the gilded atmosphere, he proceeded to focus his attention on trying to come to grasp with the enormity of the mutually working defense systems, first in their parts, and then how they synchronized would work together holistically. The task was altogether out of his depth, and the more he probed the more astounded he got, not to mention confused, for magic of this magnitude intensity he could not even hope to examine in any clear detail, only feel and be awed. If he opened his eyes he supposed the sight would blind him.

After Lupin had given his key and introduced him as a squib relation, they followed Griphook down to the carts and soon they were zipping in exhilarating fashion on the swerving tracks and Harry dropped his attentions and focused on enjoying the ride. After they had retrieved three bagfuls of gold, they were about to restart the cart when all hell broke loose.

Alarms shouting! Griphook shouting! Blaring signals and automated voices sounded everywhere and the noise of crashing gates, discordant flurries of movement. His senses in total overdrive by the sudden incredulous spike of magic, he duly fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4 (I do not own.)

Dumbledore's Office.

It had not been right at all. Dumbledore paced inside his silent office musing about the dilemma that was Harry Potter. It was clear that Remus and Sirius had projected their desires for revenge into Harry and he had grown up as a weapon. Stripped of his humanity, James and Lily would be turning over in the grave, furious with their best friends. It might have been a way for the two of them to get over their grief but they had undoubtedly done great harm to their godson.

As for a weapon, you needed a solid foundation, Dumbledore thought. With it, not even the worst happenings could dislodge the purity of intention and will that had been so meticulously built. But without such patience and care, as Harry had clearly been reared to fight the moment he could stand on two legs, he became dangerous and unpredictable. By denying him a proper childhood where he was oblivious to such things, they had created a rushed and unwieldy structure. Now all they had left was to pray that things would chance only upon the good. How would Harry, now that he had been educated in such a way, react to Voldemort, in his presence? For him, Voldemort had surely become an obsession and a personal vendetta rather than the righteous moral mission (of collective suffering and sacrifice), which was what Harry needed to think in order to overcome him. He could never overcome Voldemort by skill alone. Not with his fifty years of power rituals and experimentation in the Dark Arts. Dumbledore was extremely confused. But if Harry was truly the Prophesized One, what power if not Love (and surely it could not be skill) would be required in order to vanquish Voldemort?

Outside Quality Quidditch Supplies.

It had been nearly ten years since they died and Sirius knew he had never forgotten every detail of them, how they looked and dressed how they talked and their mannerisms every aspect of their unique countenances, the tone of their voice, James' signature friendly smirk and boasts, Lily's graceful smile and temperamental sense of humor. Perfectly complementary, and how close they had felt as a group except for Wormtail. He groaned and clenched his teeth inadvertently causing several people about to stare. He thought of them at least once per day, perhaps three times on average. He missed them and felt the strain with every clench of his pounding heart. When the moment had passed and he had composed himself again, he resumed staring at broomsticks.

He often came here just to think even when he had no business in Diagon Alley, looking at Quidditch things somehow made him relax and think. Perhaps it was a reminder of old times. Harry had already bought his equipment (in disguise) the year before when they had first taught him to fly. Of course he was good at it. But due to the nature of his "sight," Harry had stated that the magical vibrations and flashes of magic were distracting his ability to truly fly with perfect awareness. He apparently couldn't focus on just intuitively flying and therefore sudden turns and swift movements eluded him and his timing was slightly off as was his concentration. But he had gotten much better over the years and such lapses were rare. Harry flew serenely, elegantly like someone who was detached from the running action and play around him.

I think I was a decent teacher, Sirius mused. Not so much a good caregiver though, that was Remus. It pained him to say but the discussions with Harry about Voldemort and their future plans was the closest tie that they had ever managed to develop. He was only three when they had told him and started training him in martial magic. Daily dueling lessons in the basement soon followed, four hours per a regular day. Drilled with an intensity that had probably never been heard of in the Wizarding world, for how else could he hope to triumph in a destined fight with Voldemort? Voldemort won't know what's coming for him, he thought with a savage smile. When he returns, we'll take him down together and Harry would deliver the finish.

But even that was a problem for Harry, namely dark spells as he had been quick to name them in the most disparaging of terms. Try as he might, he had never been able to convince his godson to learn even the mildest of hexes, and he cringed every time any were directed at him in their mock duels. That was a problem for their mission, a paradoxical one even.

Here he was, unwilling to learn the mildest of hexes, commenting that the Bat Bogey Hex was frankly useless, and quite malicious as well. When asked humorously how he proposed to take down Voldemort and his followers, Harry had said it would be on his terms with his methods and that he'd show the world that there was a different branch of magical knowledge just as deadly. (And he was only seven at that time.)

He had often wondered how it was that his godson had grown up so quickly, as a young child he was pensive and prone to staring randomly into space, lost in his own thoughts perhaps and would tune out of conversation. That was when Harry had confided with them his special sight, his ability to see magic. It was a revelation that changed things. From then he had never wavered in resolve and belief that Harry would one day see to Voldemort on his terms. He supposed it was those abilities that had caused Harry to grow up so quickly, and to have a sensitive distaste to dark spells, although that had waned when he had become desensitized to the array that Sirius had cast on him. Still if Harry had his weaknesses (if anyone could call that a weakness, surely Dumbledore wouldn't), he had his manifold strengths. Prodigal talent that Sirius felt sure even Voldemort as a child could not lay claim to.

So in the end he was not ashamed, not did he regret the decisions that he and Lupin had chosen to make. He remembered the night when James had confided the prophecy and the excitement he had registered had been the polar opposite to the distress that the parents had shown. He had been rather ashamed of that but now that he felt certain that the key to beating Voldemort had revealed itself at long last, he could barely restrain himself and his vigor. To avenge them. To avenge them at last. For if Harry had been unfortunate to have been marked in the eyes of his parents, now that they were dead on that very account, there was nothing left to hold back the pure fury that he now registered.

The purity of the mission was never at stake. From his earliest years, Harry had had an eerie, even supernatural understanding of the situation that he faced. And he never shrank from it, nor feared it, but accepted it with grace. Every year at Halloween, they would make a pilgrimage of sorts to their graves and he supposed that that had had a strong impression on his young and developing mind. The necessity of everything he understood, even if Sirius knew that others never would. He didn't think either of them could be at peace until that mission had been fulfilled, the constant reminder of the pure necessity of killing Lord Voldemort and all those who had aided and participated in his terror. They would find them all, and there would be no mercy for them, no mercy but that of a quick death. But not Wormtail. He would not be allowed to die so easily.

Lupin was never quite so certain and became somber whenever the topic was raised. He had often raised the point that Sirius had changed, and yes He had. How could he not have been changed in light of everything? I was stupid before, he had often told himself. And it hurt to say it and he remembered the months of drunken stupors after their deaths and it was only the prospect of Harry, his growing godson that pulled him out of it. How would everything be, if there was one single irrevocable change that he could have made, if he had been Secret Keeper what sort of lives would they all be living now? How would he be then? Probably still young and stupid he thought.

Harry would have to reenter the public gaze of the magical world now, he thought distractedly running a hand over an unfamiliar set of facial features before gulping down another mouthful of potion. They had made the decision to take down the Fidelius charm after his eleventh birthday, as what with him going to Hogwarts anyway, and he was fairly confident in Harry's ability to defend himself. _He needs to get to know more people_. The worst of it was in his and Lupin's need to avoid other people, they had naturally imposed such an environment upon Harry as he was living with them. He had probably never known anybody else in his life, shielded away in his studies, reminds me so much dare I say it, Regulus Black.

He had found the letter from his brother only weeks after their deaths while he and Lupin had been scrounging Grimmauld's Place for the last time in order to remove any valuable magical books. In hindsight, the letter had affected him almost as much as anything else. With a single sheet of paper, his whole perspective of not only his brother, but his own understanding of his family had changed. The letter had also contained one vital piece of information though, the one that would shape their ambitions and expectations of the future. In it, Regulus had revealed the secret of the Horcruxes and after they had found out about his death, they had destroyed the Locket but – and he squeezed his eyelids shut in frustration for they had made no progress in that no progress at all for ten years. Their endeavors having proved utterly futile, he supposed the only way to go about doing it was to defeat Voldemort first, somehow extract the information from him, "kill" the vile bastard and then finish him off by hunting down the remaining objects one by one until he was dead.

At the Bank

Harry fell into Lupin's arms even as the alarms continued to blare. Lupin was stoic. "Oh merlin. He's done it again."

"Is he so prone to fainting at inopportune moments?" the goblin remarked.

"Oh yes, he has a fragile and nervous temperament you know. Helpless in fact."

Griphook grinned widely and rubbed his hands in relish. "And I wonder who we are going to catch this time? There hasn't been one in what, fifteen years now and counting?"

"And you'll be allowed to deal with him or her yourselves then," Lupin asked. "The goblins I mean."

Griphook leered softly and looked truly maniacal. "It's one of the dispensations of wizarding law and a concession on part of the wizards. The Bank is our domain after all. The wizards have no jurisdiction on the matter. It is an internal goblin affair."

"May I ask what you plan to do with the perpetrator?"

Griphook's smile became truly feral.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 (I own only that which is not recognized by anyone)

Harry was awake in an instant and the first thing on his mind was bewilderment. He saw the form of Lupin and Sirius as a dog over him. He reached instinctively for glasses and fumbled them on as he could see their eyes swimming (or perhaps it was his own) and concern etched on Lupin's face as he sank back into his pillow.

"How long?" he asked.

"Two hours," Lupin replied softly while Sirius barked. "Long enough for Sirius' polyjuice to run out at any rate."

"Are we at…"

"The Leaky Cauldron, I've rented a room for the day. Do you want to know what happened?"

He nodded. "There was a break-in of sorts, at Gringotts. I suppose that's why you fainted immediately." Harry nodded again. "Only out for two hours though, I remember the last time when you had a dose of underage magic you slept for eight hours straight."

Harry grimaced at the memory. During one of his training sessions he had somehow shattered a brick wall in exasperation and debris had continued to explode in the air into smaller and smaller shards as he desperately attempted to calm himself. It was one of the disadvantages of training a pre-adolescent wizard, while their magic was still immature, and he supposed their maturity could also be called in question. While he was capable of learning quickly due to his abilities, it was still a precarious task that erupted into numerous "accidents" of failed magic control. And then because of those very abilities he would black out immediately afterwards, as his body recoiled in shock at the sudden magic being unleashed. Harry closed his eyes for the moment trying to remember how it felt, only this time it came from the external environment and was not nearly as disrupting, it had felt only like a minor shock but it was still enough to put him out cold.

"I wonder what we're going to do when he gets to Hogwarts," he heard Lupin say to Sirius, "the castle is after all very strong in ambient magic, so I wonder how he would react to that at first."

"What happened then?" Harry sat up looking around at the small windowless room, and his bed surrounded by grey and very depressing hangings.

"Aurors and goblins are still investigating. Doesn't look like they've caught anyone as of yet. Looks safe enough at any rate to continue with the day trip. Sirius can stay in dog-form though as far as disguises go it's only second-rate. Harry…"

He had just realized that he had changed back, so he tapped absentmindedly at his scalp, which changed to a lighter shade of brown and then put on the contacts in his pocket in place of his glasses.

"I suppose it doesn't really matter if you're discovered", Lupin said smiling. "Put on some of that powder to rub out the scar and we'll be off for lunch."

A quick lunch down below and they were off again. For Harry who had already stockpiles of magical ingredients and equipment, it was only a matter of school robes, a pet, and his very first personal wand. They stepped out into the scene where the early morning sunshine had evaporated to become tranquil, limpid skies of a pale hue. The crowds were apparently buzzing about the break-in and all through Madame Malkins, Harry had to endure whispers and gossip which he found himself hating even when it was not about him, but then Remus had warned him it would only be inevitable in the future given who he was to these people.

He felt slightly more cheerful after collecting his new pet Hedwig from the store, being attracted by her snowy-white complexion. He was feeling apprehensive as he approached Ollivanders' and slipped his borrowed wand into Lupin's grasp who quickly pocketed it. As the door opened with a jingle, Ollivander who was busy with another client implored them to wait outside.

Two minutes later, the door burst open again and a professional looking muggle couple left the shop bemused, accompanied by their daughter, a bushy-haired girl who was holding up a wooden stick enthusiastically and chatting without rest at the top of her breath. Harry had to stifle a snicker and entered followed by Lupin and Sirius who had insisted on being present for the moment. As the door closed with a shut, he was met with a mystifying gaze.

Ollivander was gaunt with long hair almost entirely greyed out, ancient-looking features that still looked sharp and discerning. His blue eyes resting behind a pair of crooked frames were lucid and penetrating as he surveyed around him and rested finally on the dog. Sirius growled

"Well, Mr. Potter I do not usually allow for pets in my shop but for you I will certainly make the exception. I have been expecting you this year, as have many in the wizarding world, but I do wonder at your choice for disguise." Ollivander smiled softly. "You do realize that color charms on scalps rarely turn out well. I might have thought you were wearing a wig."

Harry bristled unsure of what to say. "He's young," Lupin smiled and shook Ollivander's hand warmly.

"Ah Remus, a delight to see you again. 10 and a quarter inches, Cypress and male unicorn hair, I believe. On the pliable side as well."

"That is correct," Lupin acknowledged.

"And we have young Mr. Potter here today for his wand. And of what wand arm would you happen to be?"

"Ambidextrous."

"You're quite tall for your age. Not to keep anything from you of course, but Albus recently contacted me as to what wand he said you would probably be suited for, to test of course. I had it made just two months ago. Stubborn little feather, wouldn't go with any other combination I tried. A very rare combination was what was required. But I think this might do."

He had come back from the back of his shop balancing a slender wooden box on his shoulder. Harry took it from him and saw for the first time, a plain looking, undistinguished, and unpolished wand made of dark brown wood. It was coarse to his fingertips when he touched it but immediately he could feel sparks running down those fingertips that seemed to seal a sort of permanent state of accord between the holder and the wand. Captivated he lifted it high, felt an odd tingling run down his spine and gave it a casual flick. A cloud of thick mist enveloped them all which he cast away with another swift flick. By his sight, he could see tendrils of magic swirling before it dissipated and he noted that a wizard's magic was of an entirely different character once it bonded with a new wand. He could feel a greater command of his magic now than with anything he had ever tried before.

"-Rarely work with such materials." Ollivander interjected somewhat feebly as he wiped his glasses. "Phoenix feather core and Elder wood. 13 inches, unyielding. A very powerful wand. Very unlucky some would say but they're probably idiots. Extremely powerful, yes, indeed I think it must be said that we must expect great things from you Mr. Potter. It is apparently in your destiny."

The View from Dumbledore's Office

What was the best course of action to go about shaping Harry Potter and leading him onto the right path to take down Voldemort? It was a difficult question as Harry was clearly not a boy (not that he hadn't tried) that could be impressed, intimidated, excited, flattered, ect.. Behind those eyes he knew that everything in Harry's mind was subordinated below the task of killing Lord Voldemort, whatever his outward appearance might suggest, and as such it would be difficult to connect with one so emotionally closed off to the rest of the world.

Having entered so late in the game, he was quite certain that what influence he did exert would be marginal and it troubled him to have so little control of whatever would happen, how the Prophecy would unfold itself, whether for good or bad. Dumbledore had considered before all options of litigation but he knew it was hopeless. Lupin, (not mentioning Sirius as he was innocent) had broken no law as the will had specifically ruled that Lupin was to raise Harry if Sirius was not able. There was public sentiment against werewolves yes, and restrictions existed barring werewolves from adopting children (however there were not without exemptions), but public sympathy very much rested with Harry Potter and if he were to make a public speech extolling Lupin and the necessary sacrifices required to protect him from the followers of Voldemort, the Ministry might, reluctantly albeit grant Lupin continued guardianship although they would probably insist that Lupin go for weekly check-ups (a mandatory intake of Wolfsbane) and the like, and an auror to be secretly stationed nearby the house.

And it would be counterproductive now as it would only worsen the relationship between himself and Harry. Harry would only resent being forcibly taken away from the guardians he knew all his life, and so while it was possible to do so (with difficulty), it would be unwise and unnecessary. For the next seven years of his life, Harry would be spending most of his time at Hogwarts anyways. But he would be having a word with the duo concerning his future "training", and maybe take part in it himself in creating a suitable curriculum. He was more sure than ever about the prophecy after having received that last owl from Garrick and the last trace of possible doubt had quite simply evaporated. How this was all going to ultimately play out though, perhaps only Harry himself knew. But he himself also needed to find out.

King's Cross Platform 9 3/4

The rest of the month had passed uneventfully enough, as Sirius made every effort to get Harry hyped up for his departure, which Harry was happy enough to oblige only because it seemed expected of him. Lupin however he felt could always sense his true underlying sentiments and knew how to act accordingly, for which he was grateful.

The truth was, the prospect of Hogwarts terrified him for it meant not only the next unknown step of his magical education, but that so much of his development would now rest solely upon his shoulders. It would be his responsibility alone to find the right material, to come up with the right strategies to improve, to make his long terms plans for the future and to strive and attain his goals. Given the necessary secrecy that he would have to shroud himself in, he felt already isolated from his peers. The teachers would be of no comfort too, meaningless figureheads who would play no part in his learning unlike everyone else (at least in the initial years.)

At King's Cross, the three of them parted through the barrier at nine o clock sharp to avoid unwanted attention, Lupin had wanted Harry on the train before everyone realized who he was, so that his role as a guardian could remain in the dark. Sirius bounded behind him in dog form, he had insisted on coming for what he called a "momentous" moment. Harry carried his trunk himself, charmed to roughly half its weight hugged Lupin and then patted Sirius on the head as he resumed his agitated state of barking, running across the station in a great hullabaloo. Harry assumed that this was his dog-form way of reminding him that he expected pranks.

The crimson mass of rolling wheels and crisp carriage doors and the unventilated corridor ushered him in, and as he surveyed his sterile surroundings, he turned back to the window and waved towards them. A minute later they had both gone. Harry sat back with his legs up and focused his sight onto his surroundings. He quickly deduced that the train ran due to a series of powerful locomotive charms operating in tandem that ran the muggle engine, but which had also the effect of minimizing sound and smoke, and lessening wayward motions of the train so as to make it a more pleasant, smooth ride. The muggle engine must after all be very old and had not been replaced as judging by the fact that the charms themselves were very very old and had only been maintained but not altered.* (See note at bottom.)

In fact the train seemed almost to be in motion already and Harry imagined it for a moment galloping across the Albion like some fearsome predator, carrying its passengers off to its new prospect. He sat by himself for the better part of half an hour imagining these things for a while and feeling the soothing magical operations around him until he heard the crowds finally arriving. He turned his head with some curiosity as the other adolescents and their parents were saying their farewells and a minute later there was a timid tapping on his compartment door and there stood a very chubby, round-faced boy clutching his trunk and fumbling his pet toad awkwardly that was in danger of being squished to death. Harry opened the door quickly and the boy stumbled in and nearly tripped over his own feet. He then helped him wrest the trunk onto the rack. The boy then stuttered into his seat and offered his hand, which Harry took.

"Neville Longbottom," the boy said somewhat trembling, "Th-thanks for letting me into your compartment and f-for helping me with my stuff." He held up his toad which had fortunately passed out, "This is Trevor."

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry replied and as he expected Neville flinched in surprise.

"Umm… My pet owl is called Hedwig. I've heard of your family before. You were good friends with the Potters?" He had specifically tried to avoid any mention of either of their parents.

"Y-yes, my grandmother always told me about J-James and L-Lily Potter." Obviously the boy was not so tact. But having realized what he done he looked crestfallen and tried to make up for it. "I'm s-sorry for your loss."

Harry shrugged. He had after all never known his parents and so he felt no real emotional tie to them, even though it did feel warming to look at old photographs of them smiling back at him. For him Voldemort was an abstract, detached sort of hatred, by killing his parents Voldemort had gravely spat on the honor of his house and that debt had to be repaid no matter what.

They chatted for awhile but Harry found that they had little in common. First Neville asked him about Houses, which Harry replied he didn't really care, it was all the same for him and he would go wherever the Hat thought he was suited. When Neville mentioned Slytherin in the darkest of tones, he replied that every house had its strengths and weaknesses and there were none that were better or worse by any objective measure. It was the individuals in them that counted. Neville said chuckling that he was probably bound for Hufflepuff like he was for such odd views and proceeded to lament his own inaptitude for magic and provide an melodramatic account of his own self-pity. Harry found it more and more tedious to listen to him but he endured for the sake of the need to cultivate a good image wherever he went. He did try at least to straighten him out though.

"Neville, have you ever asked yourself what magical talent is?" Harry inquired. When Neville shook his head shame-faced he proceeded, "Magical talent is merely the measure of a witch or wizard's capacity for development. It is the product of three parts, not one. It is will + work + natural capacity in equal measure," he recited. "Will as in belief, confidence and determination. Work as in study and training and endurance, how much you actually do. Natural capacity is merely how well-attuned you are to magic, not as is commonly believed your reservoirs of power, stamina, these can be increased even if you have a low-base to start off with. Plenty of talented wizards, who were well-attuned to magic started off with a low base and couldn't cast spells properly but due to a combination of diligence, will, and their natural propensity towards magic (which allowed for them to learn quickly), they became in the end very powerful. So just because you can't cast spells now does _not_ mean you have no talent. And even if you really have no talent, having will and the desire for work can make up for it in many cases. But that depends on you."

Neville had tuned out slightly and gave a shy nod blushing, sat back and said nothing more. Harry resumed staring out the window and then felt the pulses of magic change. Casting his gaze around the shifting forms and wisps below he realized they were beginning to move. Muttering a "finally," he decided it would be rude for him to read in front of Neville and do another blow to his self esteem, he propped up his legs and began to take a nap. It hadn't lasted five minutes when Harry felt a flurry of activity next door, something heavy slamming shut and upraised voices, and he was shocked enough to almost fall from his seat. Ten seconds later, the door was thrown open and the now defiant-looking bushy-haired witch he had remembered seeing in Diagon's Alley came marching in, head raised, eyes furious. Harry stared amused as the girl proceeded to sit down next to Neville and rant about the ignorant, idiotic, silly bunch of mongrels that she had just been forced to share a compartment with and what sounded like how they had made fun of her rapturous enthusiasm for Hogwarts and magic, and then had called her (and here her expression faltered slightly) a silly muggle-born book-worm.

Harry sighed and took his feet off the seat as the girl ranted for a minute more before introducing herself as "Hermione Granger" born to dentists and completely new to the magical world. Neville introduced himself quietly, clearly fazed by the situation. "I'm Harry Potter," he cut into the Hermione's tirade. "We heard a racket next door. I presume you had a shouting match with two other compartments of girls then. I'm surprised the prefects didn't come running."

Hermione then waxed lyrical over Harry's imagined accomplishments but he cut her off again. "I remember seeing you with Diagon Alley with your parents, I think you were getting your first wand. May I see?" And they exchanged wands, Hermione had by then recovered her poise and composure. Once she had calmed down Harry was able to sense there and then that Hermione had indeed the potential to become a powerful witch and he had often found that he could judge an individual based on the wand that had chosen them. Neville interjected to join in the conversation himself holding out his Dad's old wand, but as it had not chosen him, Harry had no interest in looking at it.

Looking at Hermione's wand however, he could already sense her potential for greatness and staring back at those chocolate-brown defiant eyes he had to remind himself that he was quite possibly staring at one of the brightest and keenest magical talents that had been born of their generation and he blinked twice and hoped his face showed no visible awe. Hermione who had by then been long bored at looking at Harry's plain old wand pocketed hers back with a slight huff and the train rolled on steadily.

A half hour of companionable silence followed before it was disrupted yet again by the presence of another, red-haired, scruffy, and freckled student who was panting heavily as they opened the door for him. "I- ccame to ffind H-Har-ry P-Pott- er," he made out. "Ran the whole carriages." He coughed out.

"Why?" Harry asked and his eyes narrowed.

The boy had obviously not been expecting that and pausing to think for a proper response, he elected to stick out his hand. "Ron Weasley. I'm uh glad we could meet."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Harry replied somewhat coldly.

He looked nervously about at both Neville and Hermione. "Fine. Uh truth is, well, I've always looked up to Harry Potter- I mean you, Harry of course…" he trailed off.

"What else?" Harry demanded.

"And… I was… well, encouraged to find you and be your friend," Ron finished rapidly the color rising in his cheeks. "By my parents you know. Lunatics they sometimes are. I suppose I should be going then, the compartment's rather full."

"No we've got room," Harry put on the most welcoming smile he could muster. Ron's face broke out in a genuine smile, "Really, you mean it I can stay, I mean you looked like you wanted to kick me out earlier…."

Harry was still at this point thinking of a way to make pleasant conversation with Hermione and endear himself to her (which was not one of his strong points admittedly) though he felt it was of paramount importance to his mission and future development as a wizard., and so he was not really paying attention to where the conversation had really been going. So he said: (hoping to win some points with the bushy-haired witch beside him.)

"You told me the truth and I value and respect that." And he knew that Ron would be loyal and therefore useful. And extra companions certainly did not hurt so long as they didn't know what he was truly up to. And Ron's face broke out into a radiant smile and he plopped down next to Harry and started muttering off about Quidditch with Neville, which gave him the perfect excuse. Reaching down into his bookbag he pulled out…

"Ooh curse breaking. I hadn't got to that yet. What's it about?" Hermione asked feverishly. Harry grinned and sat next to her showing the book.

An hour later…

"Trevor!"

"What does he look like? Remind me."

"What? He's dark green and has black patterns running down his-"

"Accio Trevor." Smack.

"Blimey mate how did you do that?" "That's really advanced magic, OWL level…" "Trevor!" "Someone had better get the door."

Note: This system of maintenance of charms is one I devised to create a better economic balance in the wizarding world. (Just so people can actually have plenty of jobs to do, which is easy to justify if magic itself needs magical maintaining.) Essentially powerful charms, those that last generations or even a thousand years (aka Hogwarts) require immense skill, deep knowledge to cast, and obviously none but the most brilliant are able to cast such spells (with difficulty). Other mundane magical items still require well-trained and specialized wizards who undergo vocational training. Thus there exists a class of wizards who after Hogwarts specialize in such charms to make certain ranges of magical items and the like. Magical maintenance on the other hand is quite a simple task, one that which Hogwart students are capable of performing on routine items. Basically in maintenance you cast spells in order to allow for the long-term charm to run again smoothly, fixing it. More complex and less commonplace issues however also require specialists, and a significant portion of the magical community earns their keep by specializing in the magical solution to some specific tough magical problem. So you see it really is a very industrial/technocratic/working class sort of society, due to the absence of automation, as there is only magic, which while it doesn't require hands on work, still requires hands on magic to work. Otherwise the entire magical community would be fabulously wealthy and poor families like the Weasleys wouldn't even exist. Still the wizarding community is comparatively well off though.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Dumbledore's Office

Snape: "And shall I attempt to use passive Legilimency on the brat and report my findings?

Dumbledore: No. I must advise against it. Don't. Just don't. Don't try and provoke him either. Nothing of that nature would cause him to reveal to us what he is.

Hogwarts Express

"We're nearly there," Hermione said quietly looking at the darkness outside the window. Neville who had been dozing quietly for the last forty minutes jerked awake suddenly to the sound of her voice. "I'll wait outside for the lot of you to change into your robes." As she shuffled outside, Neville wheezed and nudged Ron who broke from his loud snore and the lot of them changed in rapid fashion. As the train jerked to a stop, Harry became aware that he was getting a mild headache but he shrugged it off and did not pay much attention for the moment.

"Firs years to me!" An evidently half giant was booming and it was to him that the four of them headed towards once they had gotten off at the station. Harry followed behind the other three, feeling more and more uneasy and uncomfortable as the giant "Hagrid" led the way through the darkened wet streets of Hogesmede, slipping through the narrow alleys between some buildings with outlandish signs, to a small wooden pier by the lake at the edge of the village.

"You'll get yer first look at Hogwarts in a sec." The giant ahead of them promised.

They passed through a low under-bridge before a collection of oohs and gasps broke out from among them. He didn't dare open his eyes. All around him he could sense the rapture of his fellow students, but he knew if he dared it at the very moment, it would kill him. The power that was being emitted at whatever was ahead was overwhelming. It was nothing that he had ever felt in his life, and he sensed he had never truly felt _magic_ until at this very moment, its surging heat and presence produced an ever-agonizing throbbing in his brain and he willed himself not to pass out even as he felt his insides being hammered at, the magic being emanated churning like a maddened volcano spewing out hot embers and thunder strikes in the distance he could imagine. He began to shake involuntarily as he passed some sort of imaginary line and his head split open, he was left clutching the side of the boat desperately willing for the moment to end.

"Are you all right, Harry" came Hermione's concerned voice next to him. "Are you ill?" But he could not answer her but uttered a piteous moan from beneath the folds of his robes, he didn't dare open his eyes. He wasn't sure if whether the rays and the auras would force themselves into his sight, past his defenses and he would disintegrate in the face of pure overwhelming magical fury. He couldn't hold on. He tilted onto the edge willing himself to fall off the edge into the lake but Neville caught hold of him.

"He's really ill, professor Hagrid," Neville squeaked in horror.

Harry screamed and all the boats came to a halt. It was all attacking him from so close and he threw up on the shore. "Fetch Madame Pomfrey," came Hagrid's far-off panicked voice, but as no one among them knew Madame Pomfrey they were helpless. Hagrid bellowed, "Stay here, the lot of ye!" and he carried Harry bodily up the steps of the castle. Harry was jerking frantically in his arms in a fit.

Hospital Wing

"I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine." Harry repeated stubbornly. It had been fifteen minutes since his collapse and things were beginning to piece themselves back together but his head was still in so much pain he could barely think. But he couldn't show too much weakness for an initial impression. "Please let me go down to the Entrance Hall and be sorted. I've just hurt my eyes so I can't see that's all. I promise I'll come straight back here afterwards and get myself checked up. I really can't miss my sorting. Please Madame Pomfrey."

After performing a series of diagnostic charms and finding there was nothing really physically wrong with him, she let him go reluctantly after he had assured her he was feeling quite better, with the exception of his eyes which were apparently hurting. He still didn't dare open them at the moment, and he could still feel and register shivers at the sheer intensity of the magic pulsating through the walls like an almighty heartbeat. In the end, she had given him a pain relief potion that did help enormously and walked with him down to the entrance of the Great Hall. As Harry strolled in he forced his eyes to open but almost immediately wished he hadn't.

The sheer luminescence and dancing sparks that greeted him was shocking and searing even as he was doing everything he possibly could to restrain his Sight, and he couldn't help but cover his face in a reflex motion despite how it would look. It was as if he was staring into the face of the rising run in its full magnificence and intensity of piercing light, the sparkling effulgence, the shining beacon of a million lights dancing in parallel, twinkling in the midst of a vague background of noise and scattered human forms wreathed in black. He knew that this was _not_ the way he wanted to make his entrance into Hogwarts, cowering as if in fright and there were snickers all around but he could barely see anything at the moment. Blearily, he just managed to spot the line of first years getting ready to be sorted and he hastily moved to the rear. Slowly by separate degrees, over the course of minutes he forced his eyelids further and further open while at the same time desperately forcing down his Sight. It worked, slowly, little by little he was beginning to function again. Luckily his name was not near the top of the list.

"Harry Potter."

He felt the hush that fell across all four tables and then whispers that eruped in its wake, and clenching his teeth walked as composedly as he could to the stool before Dumbledore and all the rest of the professors, jammed the thing down on his head as quickly as possible, grateful for the darkness until an electric shock took over running down his entire spine down to his limbs and he clutched the edge of the stool in agony, willing himself not to cry out.

_Harry Potter, the hat said. What have we here? _

_So I can talk to you then? And you can hear me and respond? _

_Certainly, the hat replied, I am a sentient being just like you in a sense. _

_Fascinating. Get on with it then would you? I need to get out of here as quickly as possible._

_You have the sight. _

_What? _

_You have the sight. Myrddin was the last who tried me on. Just like you he reacted in an unpredictable way when first subject to the castle's formidable wards and array of magical sources. For when anything foreign in magical nature enters these walls, it has to put up a fight before the Castle deems it worthy to be let pass. _

_So this is why I'm hurting then? A nasty sort of test?_

_Your body and mind cannot bear to be stimulated by such a refluent flow of magic in such a short period of time. Surely you have experienced such a stress before, even if it was not anything to this scale?_

_Tell me more about this Sight then, what do you know? I haven't been able to find any information elsewhere about it._

_All I know, I know by having examined your last predecessor who possessed this gift. And while I cannot reveal any particular facts, I will give you a general outline of what I know. The sight is evidently a rare and almost unheard of gift given that of all the students that have ever attended you are only the second I have encountered. It seems to be the manifest ability, as you are aware, to make use of the body's senses and intellect to detect and analyze magic, using visual, auditory, scent, and other bodily sensations as cues. Essentially by making use of these cues you are able to read magic as a sort of obscure language, and thus make out meaning and intention. I suspect at this young age, you have only been doing so largely intuitively in general so far, but as you develop a greater consciousness, and hone your abilities to acuteness, you will discover a whole plethora of specific tools and techniques that are open to you. I am certain you have already discovered yourself capable of manipulating your own flow of magic to better suit what a situation requires? _

_Harry attempted to question the hat for more but it refused to say more. The shock was lessening now but he was still quite sure he was trembling in front of everyone to see. _

_Ok fine. My last question is this. My last question is this. Was it his sensing ability that made him great and powerful, or was that just an incidental ability of his? Underneath the folds Harry could feel (or sense?) the Sorting Hat twitch with silent bemusement. I have just told you you are the first since him to possess it. Have there been others then? Besides us? Earlier? Certainly. But I cannot confirm it, only logically there has had to be. Why would that be the case? Their names may be lost to ancient history and be unknown to us, but it is evident that every culture, every civilization of magic that has ever existed has had its sacred, mythical founder, that was able to establish the foundations for further development. Current magical Britain which as its roots in the Romano-Celtic tradition is no different. The Founders may have been strong in ambient magic but they were unable to dissect their magic into smaller pieces for general use, to make specific spells with predictable inductive outcomes. Their magic while immensely powerful was vague, hard to control, and even harder to study and learn, much less analyze by cause and effect. Myrddin was the one who unified two traditions of magic and in doing so created something revolutionary. He was able to restructure the tradition of Celtic magic itself into the logical forms found in the ancient Roman tradition, keeping a portion of the original strength of the old spells, while sacrificing a great deal of its power for wider accessibility and comprehension. In this way magic could now be studied by everyone and furthered in a coherent manner. This was what allowed a wider Magical community to spring up so that the full human resources of all who were magical could be fully tapped. So it would no longer be pure divine luck that allowed some people to have their magic, now it was a combination of that with intelligence. The Founders could never after all give an account into anything that they were capable of doing. And so there were ever only Four (exceptional) Founders in over a thousand years. No one else was capable of actually learning their magic until Myrddin changed the rules. Even if he was not their peer in terms of raw power, he was their first pupil and successor by rights. _

_You could be just like him in this respect. You both have the Sight to push magic and understand it, to develop it along new frontiers, understand new potentialities, benefit wizardkind. _

_I thank you for your counsel, Harry said, his head swimming with new revelations even as it was continuing to ache. Would you please now do me the honor of sorting me into a proper house and I would be grateful. _

_I do not have the ability to sort you._

_What?_

_You misunderstand me. I don't have the ability to sort you because let me put it this way whatever magical probe I send to determine your magical character you could easily detect with your Sight, and then adjust and shift your magic as you please to disguise your true intentions. So I cannot sort you with any accuracy while you may so easily deceive me. I can try but it would be ultimately playing a game with you to see who can outwit the other._

_Has this been a riddle all the while then, since you cannot discern my true nature so you have got me into conversing with you to reveal inadvertently what I am. In order to properly sort me as is your task. _

_Very astute of you. Those with the Sight do seem to have more than just the ability to sense magic, they can also often sense intuitively the intention itself behind the magic, albeit only indirectly. But it was the only method left to me, the non-magical method of judging. You are a Ravenclaw undoubtedly as are all who possess the Sight but I had to make sure. Ravenclaw then? _

_But Myrddin was a Slytherin. _

_So he was. So he was. Ravenclaw then… _

_No shut up. I needed to think. He needed Gryffindor. He needed soldiers. He needed to be seen as a symbol fighting evil. He needed Remus and Sirius by him. That was what he needed to be seen as. Gryffindor. It was the strategically sound choice._

_I must say you are diametrically opposed to Gryffindor based on my observations._

_Harry suddenly had an inkling of thought. Or I could just pull you off right now before you are able to speak and the headmaster will drop you into a bucket of ice water. _

_The hat's jaw dropped. How can you know? Ah yes, the sight allows for special intuition of others as well, especially on something so close to your head at the very moment. The mind is after all the source of all magic. Never forget that Harry Potter. Very well, I consent and yield to you. Gryffindor it is. _

Sitting up stoically at the high table, Professor McGonagoll looked worriedly at her magical watch. It was rapidly approaching fifteen minutes. Harry Potter's sorting had just shattered a thousand year record. The hall was in stunned silence while the First Years who had yet to be sorted were tapping their feet impatiently. Then…

The Hat emitted a hoarse and somewhat shriller voice than usual, GRYFFINDOR!

Note Below (LONG explanation on the historical process of the development of magic/and also somewhat the basis of this fic. My personal notes for this story edited. Read if interested)

In this story, Celtic magic (the tradition) is the powerful but nearly uncontrollable type, immense, capable of astonishing mindblowing feats, the Founders who performed this magic were demi gods. They built Hogwarts and all its magical contents. They founded the Houses. If they wanted something to happen, than it happened, magic simply responded directly to their will. That's how divinely talented they were. They were a golden generation whose magic seemed to spring up almost miraculously, as if due to divine luck (cause no knew why or how not even themselves), and collectively they used such power to build Hogwarts. But because of the obscurity of Celtic magic there is only about one such true sorcerer/shaman in hundreds and hundreds of years. To have four together was unprecedented and why Hogwarts was able to be built.

But as they were never capable of understanding anything of what they did, and while they astonished many and had many students, they could not pass on their abilities to any of their students efficiently. That was until Merlin came and he too initially was also unable to learn anything, even as he could "see" the magic. Frustrated he began to transcribe the magic (forms/runes) and study it. He then encountered the ancient Roman tradition that was still somewhat preserved from the South of England, dating back from the Roman invasion. Roman magic is quite the opposite to the Celtic tradition. It is methodical and scientific, rational, and based on well defined/thought out/clear formulae that had been tried and tested. But because of this coherent clarity, it is much less powerful and limited in what it is able to do. But because of these attributes, it is more easily understood by all; all are able to work/learn this kind of magic to some degree not merely those who are "divinely appointed/talented."

So Merlin began the arduous task of fleshing out the Founder's magic, as much as he was able to observe, and repackaging them in the Roman form, keeping the contents intact as much as was possible, and working how every little detail was composed and could be understood, so that all could understand it in the form of spells/potions. He didn't entirely succeed. Divination is entirely still Celtic in form (and thus available to only the few). Much of dark magic, intent spells like Patronus is Celtic. But transfiguration is an area where he very much succeeded in, as well as Potions/Herbology, while it uses Celtic ingredients and effects, now follows Roman methodology. The foundations of Runes are based on visual cues that Merlin observed, and Harry will realize this later (spoiler.) In Charms he was only partly successful, and as a result it is much less logical, rigorous than transfiguration. The process of converting obscure mystical magic into logical magic, I dub "rationalization."

Under "rationalization", intelligence, and not merely "natural talent for magic" is allowed to become an additional factor of determining magical capacity, as magic now is founded not just on power directly, but is able to be derived indirectly from intellect

I call such a process whereby obscure but powerful magic is transformed into a rational, accessible, logical form of magic, rationalization, and it is clear that rationalization must be the reason for any magical civilization to come into being. Or else all magic would be unable to understood by the masses, mysterious, and available only to the select few with divine-like talent. The Romans themselves had to rationalize their magic initially and they turned to the Greek logical form, the Greeks in turn had the Egyptians to learn from, the Egyptians from Mesopotamia. But it is clear in the process of the history of the development of magic, magic is becoming ever more and more rationalized, as every advancing civilization in history makes further progress in "rationalization." The logical forms by which rationalization is carried out are becoming more and more advanced, refined, and complex. This has allowed magical communities to grow ever more and more complex, varied, highly developed, become more "high tech" in their magic as they are able to develop it further by a process of analysis, and scientific experimentation. Thus for every individual quirk or need, there is a specific, calculated, proportionate magical derived solution that is developed. (spells. Magical objects. Potions.)

Still nothing exists to this day that can replicate the raw power and direct command of magic that the Founders possessed to build Hogwarts. Dumbledore and Voldemort could be considered individuals closest to them in talent. Had they not been schooled in rational magic, their magic would still probably have sprang up spontaneous on its own (Voldemort's underaged magic), and so each are able to perform "incredible feats of magic" that astonish everyone. In the time of the Founders, they would have been considered true shamans. But as it took 4 such talented individuals working together very hard for decades to build Hogwarts, it is unlikely that such a feat can be replicated because it requires at least four such individuals being born at the same time around the same place, willing and incredibly committed to work together for such an extended period of time on one project. Only in such circumstances are incredible magical feats like Hogwarts possible. Rational magic could never alone do it, because it requires the user to first understand the basis of any magic to allow them to perform that magic, which for the building of Hogwarts would require mastery of understanding in thousands of types of magic to an absurdly advanced level which is too much for anyone. So for Hogwarts to have been built, a spontaneous almighty magic of the Founders was needed, the "divine" ability to perform powerful magic without needing to understand it first.

Having his gift of Sight (although he is not intrinsically powerful), Harry can be seen to be something like Merlin's successor. Those with this gift in history have been paradigm-shifting inventors, innovators (by their ability to analyze pure magic in detail) who change the face of what people can do with magic. (And from that also naturally a community is shaped by such people, the nature of any magical community being derived from the nature of its magic.) But first he still has to kill Lord Voldemort.

In Response to one question in the comments by Kairin1979: Harry has the sight. He's grown up being more astute than any other average human being, so he's grown up very quickly, become aware of human nature/character. Imagine being able to from an early age, sense the rough true ulterior motivations behind any individual you ever talked/interacted with. How would you grow up as? This has a cumulative effect, at age 3 he's as astute as a twelve year old, by eleven he essentially is an adult. Harry is almost impossible to dupe/mislead because of his Sight. He has strong intuition, because in those story, intention in any witch/wizard is interlinked with their magic, so any one who can sense/see magic can understand the intention behind it as well. So in answer, Harry is not your typical 11 year old. And because of the intense serious training he has been subjected to, he rationalizes everything. It also means he's not terribly good at relating or conversing with his peers, who he views as childish compared to him.


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